Dagholbab

“To contemplate the discarded remnants of time is a critical endeavor, unraveling the fabric of ordinary existence.”

    Abbas Kazemi

I have always stood before doors, whether they be fashioned from weathered wood or unyielding metal, whether they guard lofty towers or weathered abodes of antiquity. In each encounter, the doors that have beckoned me, in one way or another, have remained firmly shut. Beyond their tangible form, their essence has transported me elsewhere—a realm where past, present, and future intertwine. I imagine those who came before me, those who stand beside me, and those yet to come, pondering these doors as I do today. Our lives are entwined with doors, perpetually closed or relentlessly pursued, as we yearn for the day when fortune or happiness shall grace our lives. The doors, in their diverse forms, define and redefine us, based on our societal stature, position, or station. With each encounter, whispers from within us arise, desires take shape, words form sentences, and longings find expression, unwittingly etching their marks upon these surfaces. Their contents metamorphose into nostalgic memories, eliciting the bittersweet refrain of “if only it could be relived,” or bestowing upon us an illusory golden history, emerging from the ruins of our existence, or perhaps an elusive future forever beyond our grasp.

Armed with this perspective, in every city I traverse, I capture the essence of doors through my lens and partake in the warm and chilly conversations of its inhabitants. Who knows, perchance one day a storyteller shall unlock the untold tales concealed within these doors.